Baby, Don't Get Hooked on Me
by Claire D'Aubigne
Summary: Fluff, inspired by the RF song of the same name. And... okay, maybe just a teensy bit of angst but it's all resolved at the end. Sort of. Royai.


Spoilers: none.

Disclaimer: Please don't sue me. I don't own this.

_baby, baby don't get hooked on me_

_'cause i'll just use you and i'll set you free_

Roy Mustang would have hated to admit that he might have _liked_ the paperwork, just because it sent Lieutenant Hawkeye storming into his office, made her wave her gun around threateningly, while she told him firmly and in no uncertain terms that he wouldn't be allowed to leave until the pile on the corner of his desk was gone.

Sometimes he'd take as much time on the paperwork as he could, saying that his coffee was too cold or that his pen wasn't working or offer up some other insane excuse. They were pitiful and he knew it, but that wasn't the point. Other times, he'd claim he had a date and he'd fly through the paperwork like someone was holding a gun to his head (which, metaphorically, was not entirely _un_true). This would cause her to stop in his doorway and stare as paper after paper got signed and flung onto the opposite corner.

When she thought he was slacking off, she'd get angry and storm into his office. When she thought he wasn't taking an appropriate amount of time to read the documents he signed, she'd get angry and storm into his office. Either way, he was baiting her, and he always got the reaction he was looking for.

He thought she was beautiful when she was angry. It was clichéd but it was true. And while it certainly made a difference, it wasn't because anger made her straighten her spine and stare him down like she did, or because she'd sometimes stomp over to stand next to him to make sure he was doing it right. What really made her so beautiful was the way her eyes glowed, alight with some kind of ethereal fire.

Never let it be said that Roy Mustang didn't have a thing for fire.

Riza Hawkeye had a real love/hate relationship with her work. She loved her job, but hated the days when Colonel Mustang would come into the office and announce that he had another date, so could the paperwork please be kept to a minimum. She had a small stack hidden in her bottom left desk drawer, things that weren't time-sensitive, that she'd add to his post-lunch stack when no one was looking.

The only person who knew about this stack was Havoc, because he'd walked in once while she was adding to the Colonel's workload "The Colonel shouldn't schedule dates so close to the end of the workday" was the excuse she'd offered. Havoc had arched one eyebrow and started to say something, probably seeing right through her flimsy excuse, but had shut up quickly when she casually set her gun on the desktop. He hadn't said a word to anyone.

It had nothing to do with the time Colonel Mustang scheduled his dates-- it was that he scheduled them at all. She hated that he'd made it through almost all the women in the office and had yet to say one word that suggested he even knew she was female at all.

She tried to rationalize, telling herself that it was inappropriate fraternization and it just wasn't worth risking her commission and his watch over. She told herself that he knew this, and wouldn't risk his career over any female, no matter how much of a womanizer he was. And as a last ditch effort, she reminded herself that Colonel Mustang was... well, _Colonel Mustang_, and no woman in her right mind would risk the heartbreak by even harboring a half-formed _crush_ on the man, much less be in love with him. She didn't want to date him, didn't want to be another name written in that little black book of his.

Riza Hawkeye was not a woman in her right mind, but she was a woman.

She always got there fifteen minutes before everyone else and left about ten minutes after everyone else. It gave her time to get things done without having to worry about an office crisis.

The morning routine was always the same-- she'd hang her coat on the coat rack, drop her keys on her desk, and go make the Colonel's coffee. Then she'd arrange the 'morning' stack of paperwork by priority and take it with her to his office, flick on the light and place the stack neatly on the bottom left corner of his desk before returning to her desk and checking his appointment book for meetings or anything else that was important. When she was done with that, there was just enough time to pick up the outgoing mail and drop it into the basket just inside the door for the postman before doubling back to pour the Colonel's coffee and leave it on his desk. It'd be just the right temperature for him to drink by the time he got there.

That's why, on that morning, she didn't bother to look for the sliver of light beneath the Colonel's door before she opened it. She didn't expect him to be sitting casually behind his desk, and the stack of papers she held in her hands flew everywhere when she jumped straight into the air and reached for her gun. Her brain caught up with her reflexes before she actually shot, though, and she just stood there stupidly while the Colonel gazed at her. She felt a growing suspicion about the small stack of papers he held in his hands.

"Colonel," she finally managed to get out, lowering the gun so it wasn't pointed at his head. "What are you doing here?"

"I work here, Lieutenant," he replied. She definitely didn't like the tone she heard in his voice. "Now that you're here, maybe you can explain something to me."

It must have been pure masochism that made her legs move against her will, walking forward until she stood directly in front of the Colonel's desk. "Sir?"

He held up the papers in his hand and she recognized them at once. The blood drained from her face as she continued to stare, mesmerized, unable to formulate even the pitiful excuse she'd given Havoc. She could feel his eyes on her face, burning a hole right through her head as he waited for her explanation.

"Nothing to say, Lieutenant Hawkeye?" he asked, calmly standing up. She knew she shouldn't be staring at them, but she couldn't take her eyes off of that stack of papers. _Stupid_ stack of papers. She stared in morbid fascination as the stack of papers came closer, closer... then Colonel Mustang tossed the stack onto his desk, and their spell over her was broken as she looked up with a start.

He'd come around the desk and stood in front of her now, hands in his pockets as he stared down at her. She couldn't read the expression on his face. "Sir, I--"

"Have been slipping these papers into my evening paperwork on the nights I said I had a date?" He asked calmly. "Is this some way to _punish_ me, Lieutenant? Is that what you think you're doing? Finding a way to keep me in the office longer than I should be?"

"Sir, I..." she tried again, couldn't get a word out as he held up one hand. She shut up immediately.

"We'll talk about this later. You are dismissed." He snapped the words with military crispness.

She had no choice but to comply. She saluted sharply, then turned to pick up the papers she'd thrown all over the office.

"Leave those," Mustang said from somewhere behind her. For the first time in her career, she ignored him.

"I said _leave_ those, Lieutenant!" he barked.

She had barely any time at all to compose herself before everyone else began to trickle into the office. She couldn't hide in the break room forever, because soon enough, someone would be in for something or other. Briefly, she wondered if she could escape early, claiming that she had cramps or something similar.

_No_, she thought sternly to herself, _I will not run from my mistakes_.

When she went to take the Colonel his coffee, the papers were off of the floor and on the same place they always were. He was signing them at the exact pace he should have been, and didn't look up at her when she sat his coffee down. He did, however, thank her.

The rest of the day was torture for her. Everyone kept commenting on her paleness and asking if perhaps she should leave early. She shook her head and calmly claimed that she hadn't slept well last night. She watched mutely as the Colonel sent everyone home, one by one, at around the appropriate time. Soon enough, they were the only ones left in the office. She would not run from him.

Roy felt like an ass. It was true that he'd lost his temper when he found the stack of papers (which, to be truthful, he had no right to be snooping in her desk _anyway_ but she hadn't mentioned it) but it hadn't hit him how harsh he sounded until they made eye contact. Instead of that unearthly fire he'd come to expect, something in her face shut down. He'd forgotten what he was going to say to punish her when he'd noticed she looked so... _dead_ inside. He'd told her 'later' more to give himself time to recompose something than to punish her.

And now they were alone in the office, everyone else already gone, and it was getting darker outside so he did the only thing he could see as being right. Making sure his coffee cup was in the sink and the light in his office was off, he struggled into his heavy coat and walked up to her desk.

Riza's head raised as she recognized the click of his boots. She stood, more out of habit than anything, when he reached her desk, but did not say anything.

"Get your coat, Lieutenant, I'll walk you home."

She was too surprised to argue. It wasn't what she had expected to hear. Carefully, she locked the door behind her while he waited on the steps. Riza took her time dropping her keys into her pocket and buttoning the heavy coat to keep out the chill of the night. Finally, she had nothing left to do but look up at him.

Really, she didn't even know that he knew where she lived, although she should have expected it. They didn't talk at all on the way to her apartment. The only interaction between them at all was when he would gently cup her elbow when they crossed streets.

Finally, they got to her front door and Mustang stopped, wrapping a hand around her upper arm and turning her to face him. "I'm not going to report this," he said at last, and she sighed, hoping he'd forgotten why they were standing here in the first place.

"You should," she reminded him heavily. _Why_ couldn't she shut up?

"It was alchemic code," he explained abruptly. "I don't really date that many people."

"Then why do you lie to us, sir?" she heard herself asking. "Why say you have dates when you really don't?"

He stared at her for a moment, as though he couldn't believe why she'd ask such an insane question. "To make you angry, because you're beautiful when you're angry."

She didn't even have time to gape at him before he was kissing her, roughly pulling her close with his hands still wrapped around her forearms, dominating, shocking her until all she could possibly think about was how _good_ it felt, how good he tasted, clean and coffee and a little like... well, _fire_.

Then it was over and there wasn't anything to do but stand there and stare at each other, both breathing roughly, and she was shaking a little as she said, "I don't think this is such a good idea, sir."

It must have been the wrong thing to say because his hands fell from her arms and he backed away. "You know where to find me, Riza," he began. "When you decide that maybe it wasn't such a bad idea after all."

And then he walked away, and she stood there and watched him go. She stood for a long time after he'd disappeared around the corner, and then she started walking.

She had, apparently, given him enough time to change into slacks and regular shoes, because he answered the door in a white button down that looked better on him than it had a right to. She let him pull her inside and then hold her against the door with nothing more than his hands on either side of her head.

"Is it a better idea now?" he asked, leaning closer to her as he spoke. Slowly, she nodded.

He watched with fascination as he came barely close enough to brush her lips, as her eyes dropped half-closed. He was close enough now that when he spoke to her, his lips brushed against hers on every word. "We could get into a lot of trouble for this," he reminded her reluctantly.

Then, as Riza Hawkeye was apt to do, she surprised him. She slowly slid her hands up his chest, finally stopping close to his collarbone and fisting the shirt in both hands. "I don't care anymore," she whispered, closing the miniscule gap between them.


End file.
